Stitches in Time
by JenniferJF
Summary: Happy New Year! Series of One-Shots for 11/River. Latest chapter: It's New Year's Eve. Somewhere.
1. Bending the Rules

_A/N: With all of Series 6 behind us (those of us caught up), I thought it might be a good idea to mention that I no longer consider Chapters 1-4 and 7 to follow canon as I currently interpret it (cause Who canon's always a bit wibbly anyway). Just so no one gets confused... (I used to include 6, but I consider it to be canon again now. See, wibbly.)_

* * *

><p>"No, it's in the <em>right<em> pocket," the Doctor said, popping his head up over the edge of the console to look across the control room at her.

"You mean the left one?" she muttered under her breath as she thrust her hand into his other pocket and began digging through its contents. The TARDIS she understood, but how'd he manage dimensionally transcendental pockets on a blazer? And why couldn't he just get a tool kit like everybody else?

His voice floated up from where he'd ducked back down to continue working. "I heard that. I meant the _right _one. As in the correct one. As in the pocket in which I put it... "

She opened her mouth to respond but shut it again just as quickly. Sometimes he could be so _impossible_. Maybe when she got to know him really well – like he already seemed to know her – he'd start to make more sense. Somehow, though, she highly doubted it. "I still can't-" she said instead, but stopped abruptly when she felt something soft and silky beneath her fingers. Something that felt exactly like...

She pulled out a pair of bright red lace underwear. A pair which looked remarkably similar to a black one she'd bought last week in the hope she might soon manage to finally overcome his maddening self-control. She didn't dare imagine how this particular pair might have ended up in his pocket.

Or, more accurately, when.

Actually.

Then again...

"Ooops."

Startled, she glanced up to find the Doctor had popped back up and was looking at her. She hoped she wasn't blushing quite so much as she probably should be, considering the direction her thoughts had been headed. Red wasn't really her color. Though, on second thought, considering the color of the fabric in her hand and the curiously intense expression on the Doctor's face right now...

Recovering as quickly as she could, she arched an eyebrow at him. Her voice shook only a little as she managed to ask, "Doctor? Anything you'd like to tell me?"

He was just as fast. Faster, even. He blinked and the moment was gone as though it had never been, his eyes dancing in merriment as he grinned maddeningly at her. She knew what he was going to say before he'd even opened his mouth. "Spoilers."

She really hated that word.

Later – after he'd got the TARDIS working again and dropped her off on his way to Lord-knows-where-but-sorry-River-I-can't-take-you-with-me – she went back and exchanged the black pair for an identical one in red.

And as she'd expected, acting on one little spoiler didn't, in fact, _actually_ blow up the entire Universe.

It took her years to finally realize the truth, though.

The Doctor always knew _exactly_ what was in his pockets.


	2. Remembering Everything

_Episode Tag for A Good Man Goes to War so, obviously, don't read if you've not seen it._

* * *

><p>Her parents safely deposited back home – and this was one of those most precious moments in time when she could actually allow herself to think of them as such - River stood with Jenny and the Silurian over the fallen body of Lorna Bucket. Earth's past, present and future paused in mourning for this insignificant child of a distant star.<p>

Only River knew more than almost anyone that there are no unimportant people. She'd been taught by the best, after all.

"The Doctor had no memory of this one," Madame Vastra observed.

"No, he wouldn't do."

The Silurian glanced up sharply, the question clear in her eyes.

"He will, though." She almost whispered the words. "Soon." For in Lorna's features, River could still see the brave child of the forest who, despite her own fears, had clasped a still younger girl to her chest. Who had whispered tales of her People to comfort them both.

It was both a blessing and a curse, this inability to forget. To always remember _everything_. Yet she wouldn't have it any other way. Memory was a poor memorial, but it was the best she had to offer. It would have to be enough.

And in that moment, gazing down at the broken body before her, she understood him just that little bit more.

Deep inside, where no one could see, something broke.

River wept.


	3. Back to Front

"Doctor River Song."

She glanced up from her diary through the bars of her cage, hiding her surprise at the sound of his voice behind her most dazzling smile. He was slouched back against the TARDIS, hands buried deep in his coat pockets, studying her with an intensity which belied his otherwise casual appearance. "Hello, Sweetie." He must have – for once – bothered to disengage the poor old thing's brakes.

As answering grin lit his face. "Doctor River Song," he repeated.

She slipped off her cot and moved to the bars as she asked,"Yes?"

"That's your name," he stated as though it were the solution to some complicated equation he'd been working out for years.

She couldn't help but laugh. "I know it's my name, dear..."

"No," he said. He stepped to join her at the bars, one hand slipping out of it's restraining pocket to dance in front of him as he explained, "I mean, it's _really_ your name. Your whole name. You never went to university, did you?"

She looked at him standing there before her, so happy and sure in his newly found knowledge. His new found certainty. His new...

Her smile slipped.

Desperate, she fought to maintain it. He more than anyone else in the _universe_ deserved this moment of happiness. "It's like you always said... _will_ always say," she quickly corrected herself. "Back to front, right?"

Only until that moment she'd never fully realized... never _let_ herself fully realize... just exactly what that meant. Because she suddenly saw with absolute clarity that one day he would call her Doctor Song and, to him, it would be nothing more than a title and a name. The spark as he said them – the heated glance which turned mere words into verbal caress – would be gone. He would have no knowledge of what he was really saying or who she really was. At least not to him, and that was the her that mattered most.

Despite her effort, he must have read the truth in the moisture threatening to spill from her eyes. This Doctor – _her_ Doctor still if barely – at least knew her that well. His face grew suddenly serious, his fingers wrapping gently around hers where they gripped the bars. His voice a low murmur, he began, "Oh... River. I didn't... I mean, I'm so..." Words for once failing him, he trailed off into silence.

For long moments they stood there, gazing into each others eyes, two travelers at a station bound for opposite directions. Smiling through the single tear that had escaped, she finally broke the silence. "But we still have _now_." She wished it hadn't come out quite so much like a plea.

His quick answering smile would probably have been believable to anyone who knew him less, but she knew how much hid behind his flippancy. "And after I just went through all the trouble of working out how to marry you at the same time you married me – and believe me, that's a sentence I never imagined _anyone_ would ever say let alone me and I can imagine quite a lot and you know how much I speak– anyway, it'd be a shame to waste this opportunity..." He cocked one eyebrow in a gesture she knew only too well but which he probably felt to be terribly original.

Still, despite herself... despite the entire situation... she couldn't help but laugh. "Impossible man," she muttered, shaking her head in defeat.

"Yes," he answered, his old smug smile now firmly back in place. Then, pulling out his sonic screwdriver, he asked with a flourish, "Shall we? I hear the twin rings of Atriva IV are expected to be especially lovely... sometime. And I'm sure we can scrounge up some tea from... somewhere."

She returned his smile with a laugh of her own. "Then by all means, lets."

Though a moment later, as she stepped through her opened cell door and into his waiting arms, she couldn't quite suppress the small voice which wondered, deep down inside where no one but her could hear, just how many more times they might.


	4. Because They're Cool Sometimes

With a huge effort of will, River pulled herself a few inches away from him. Just far enough to be able to pant out between deep oxygen starved breaths, "No... not... here..."

The Doctor, unwilling to be denied now that success was so close, simply switched tactics. One hand shifted its grasp on her hip, pulling her closer as he bent to plant a string of kisses along the curve of her neck. "What's wrong with the control room?" he murmured. His words whispered across her sensitized skin, sending shivers through her.

Gathering the now nearly shattered remnants of her resolve, she managed to gasp, "You have a proper bedroom somewhere... Don't you?"

"Mhmmm..." he agreed, his words muffled in the hair at the nape of her neck. "But not_ here_."

"Please? It's my wedding night, after all."

Pressed as she was between him and the wall, his answering chuckle reverberated through her. "_Our_ wedding night, love."

"Yes. Right. Whatever... Please?"

With a final frustrated sigh he pushed away. "Fine." Glancing around the room at the various corridors leading inward, he continued, "I'm sure it's around here. Somewhere."

-o-o-o-o-o-

River stood at the door to the Doctor's room staring inward in utter dismay. "You can't be serious."

"What-?" he began, but, upon stepping forward and seeing for himself, he quickly continued, turning to face her, "I swear... I didn't..."

"A bunk bed? Even you..."

"River. On my word. Last time I was here, it was a proper bed. I have no..." He stopped in mid-thought as sudden realization struck him. "Amy and Rory."

"My parents? What on earth do they...?"

The Doctor wrung his hands together, trying to buy time while he thought of the best way to explain. "Well, you see, when they first came to the TARDIS. I mean, both of them together, in this proper time stream. After I rebooted the Universe. I might have... maybe... given them a bunk bed."

"A bunk bed?"

"Because bunk beds are _cool_!" he explained, answering her unspoken question. "It's a bed. With a _ladder_." Though now, confronted with the ramifications of one himself, he was starting to see why the Ponds might not have been quite as impressed as he'd thought they'd be.

River, however, seemed hardly to have heard him. Instead, she repeated by way of summary, "When they first came to the TARDIS. A bunk bed. On their wedding night."

"Yes. So, clearly, they thought it would be great fun to put one exactly like it in my room for our..."

"Wedding night."

"Exactly."

"When they first came to the TARDIS."

"Yes. You've said that bit, dearest."

"When they first came to the TARDIS. On their wedding night. In the TARDIS. In the vortex. When I..."

Suddenly, he saw the problem.

"Oh." They turned as one to look back at the bed.

And at the small mattresses.

And the ladder.

"Oh," he repeated after a pause. "I'm sure I've got another bedroom we can use."

They stared at the bed for several more long moments.

Finally, River suggested, "How 'bout a deck of cards?"

Reflecting on it much, much later, the Doctor couldn't quite help but wonder if, just maybe, that hadn't actually been the idea all along.


	5. Life's Not Fair

He gazed down in utter wonder at the newborn sleeping in her arms, this man who'd witnessed the births and deaths of civilizations – who'd caused far too many of them himself - held transfixed by the smallest and most common of miracles. He tentatively reached out his hand, stroking across one tiny closed fist. The child's palm opened instinctively, gripping his finger. Holding on tight.

His face broke into a smile, an expression of such radiant joy it nearly broke her heart to imagine the desperate despair of all those lonely years. Then he looked up, catching her eye. His smile grew still wider as his delight expanded to include her.

He glanced back down again, irresistibly drawn back to their child. He stood there unmoving, body tense, eyes roaming hungrily over the tiny sleeping form, all his emotions churning just beneath the surface. Realizing that, uninterrupted, he might stand there for hours, she asked gently,"Thoughts, my love?"

After a long moment, he looked up at her again. "She's _g__inger!_" he finally explained, a sulky mask drawn tightly across his features. "Ginger! Do you know how long I've wanted to be ginger? It's not fair! Why does everyone always get to be ginger but me?"

But it was his eyes – it was _always_ his eyes – glistening with a lifetime of unshed tears, which gave him away.


	6. Plus One

_A/N: Pair of related drabbles._

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><p>"Augustus, come look at this."<p>

Augustus Pond popped his head into the sitting room. "Yes, dear?"

Tabetha was pointing towards the television. "Look at that. Isn't that the Doctor? You know, Amelia's not-so-imaginary friend?"

He peered closely at the screen. "I don't... Oh, my word. Yes. I believe it is."

"How on earth did he manage an invitation to the Royal Wedding?"

"I can't imagine. And who's that with him? She looks familiar."

His wife studied the television for a moment. "Never seen her before. Probably just reminds you of someone we know."

* * *

><p>She paused just inside the TARDIS door to straighten his bow tie. "Now, you promised you'd behave."<p>

"Yes, dear," he intoned. Then, a wicked gleam coming into his eyes, he continued, "But, you know, it _is_ a wedding. And I always-"

River knew only too well how loose his definition of 'dancing' was. "Please. Just this once. It's _Buckingham Palace_."

"Okay. I promise." But as he stepped outside, he held up two crossed fingers behind his back.

She should have known.

Sometimes, the man really didn't need a 'plus one'.

He needed a nanny.


	7. 21st

As the familiar sound of the TARDIS rematerializing filled the control room, River glanced down at the console display. "Earth? 21st Century? Seriously?"

The Doctor, working madly at the controls next to her, laughed, "It's your 21st Birthday, right? What could be more appropriate?"

She rolled her eyes. "But... the 21st Century? How _boring_." She'd been hoping for something a bit more exciting. Or romantic. He'd been so maddeningly distant the last few times she'd seen him. For years she'd hoped he'd lose that damned perfect self-control as she got older but, somehow, the opposite seemed to be happening.

River reached for the display controls but he swatted her hand away. "Uh-uh. It's a surprise!"

"It's the 21st Century," she repeated as she followed him to the doors. "What could be so..." She stepped outside after him but stopped abruptly upon seeing where they'd landed.

"Surprise!"

"It's... a..."

"Yup."

She turned to look at him. He was grinning in that maddening way he did whenever he thought he'd done something immensely clever. Arching an eye at him, she asked, "Aren't you supposed to ask a girl first?"

"I already did," he explained. Then, infuriatingly smugly, he continued, "You said 'yes', by the way. Quite emphatically, actually."

"I never did."

His smile shifted, becoming somehow sly and knowing. "No. But you _will_."

She glanced again at the Wedding Chapel in front of them before turning back to him. Mustering all the indignity she could, she asked, "And what makes you so sure I will _now?_"

He threw his head back and laughed before answering, "Darling, you've been throwing yourself at me since you were old enough to know what you were doing. It wouldn't _actually_ have taken a genius..."

She successfully resisted the urge to slap him. Instead, she asked, "Then why have you been so-"

"Distant?" he finished for her. Capturing one of her hands in his, he gently stroked the soft bridge between her fingers and thumb.

Desire – urgent and intense - arched through her, every nerve ignited at his touch. She swayed slightly before regaining her balance. Who knew one small spot could be so sensitive?

At her response, the Doctor's smile shifted again, the shadow of something which might have been sadness clouding his eyes. "See?" he asked after a long minute. "One has to draw the line somewhere."

She nodded, still unwilling to trust her voice.

Then he released her hand and the moment was gone as completely as if it had never been. His old familiar cocky grin split across his face. "So... shall we?" he asked, gesturing towards the chapel and offering her his arm.

"We shall," she replied. And then, slipping her arm through his, she allowed him to lead her inside.


	8. These Lines

_A/N: I'd made myself a promise I'd write five fics before writing another with a child in it. _

_I lied._

_-o-o-o-o-o-o-_

He'd gone over it a thousand times. There was no way across. Or through. Or around them. Not safely. And definitely not with a child.

He glanced down at the small figure nestled in his lap, her warm body curled against his chest as she slept. Her soft breathing, quiet though it was, sounded loudly in his ears, and at first he'd worried even that would alert the soldiers to their hiding space. It hadn't though, and he'd come to hope they'd remain undisturbed through the night. With luck, come morning, the patrol between them and the TARDIS would move on and they'd be able to slip away unseen.

She shivered suddenly in her sleep, moving instinctively towards him for warmth, and he tightened his grip around her. The night air was cold and likely to get colder. Even with her metabolism, and his jacket thrown across her shoulders, and his body heat added to hers...

This was no place for a child.

Which he'd also gone over a thousand times, especially at times like this. Because he knew too, if he put his mind to it, that he could find a safer place. Somewhere she'd be truly safe. Unknown. Hidden from all those who'd seek to do her harm. Or to do him harm through her.

Only...

Then he would lose her, too.

And maybe it was selfish.

And it was.

Except...

He glanced back down at the child in his arms. Even young as she was, relaxed in sleep, he could still see – or imagine he could see – the shadow of the woman she would become. The woman who would look at him with fire burning through the tears in her eyes and demand he not rewrite one line of their lives together.

And it was at moments like this that he thought, maybe, he really understood just what she'd been saying.

Had said.

Was going to say.

And so maybe he wasn't really being selfish after all.

Maybe.

He bent to kiss the top of her head and she stirred in his arms. Her eyes, pale in the reflected moonlight, looked up at him. As they caught and held his own, she whispered, "Is it almost morning?"

He smiled down at her as he shook his head. "No, sweetie, go back to sleep."

She returned his smile and nodded before tucking her head back beneath his chin. "Okay. See you in the morning, then..." Only the last words were nearly lost in a yawn. Within minutes, she lay relaxed again against his chest, fast asleep in his arms.


	9. Wibbly Wobbly

She drained the last of her beer. The empty glass pint made a satisfying thud as she set it on the polished wood before her. She glanced down at her watch, wondering if she had time for another or if she should...

"Plenty of time left," came a familiar voice over her shoulder. As he slid onto the stool next to her, he continued, pointing significantly at her watch. "2130."

"Excuse me?" she asked, unable to completely hide her smile.

"If I recall correctly," he explained. "And I always do." She rolled her eyes, and he pretended not to notice. "I'll be returning to the TARDIS – which you'll find if you haven't already in Amy's backyard – at 2130. Give or take a few minutes," he admitted, waving his hand vaguely in the air. "You've got plenty of time."

She registered the familiar tweed jacket and red bow-tie. But most importantly, the lack of head-gear. And as he was the last person in the universe to miss the opportunity presented by a wedding in that respect, this could mean only one thing. "_You_ shouldn't be here."

"I'm not here."

She arched an eyebrow at him then decided not to bother. Giving in to her laughter, she asked, "Oh, really?"

"You know what I mean. Anyway, more to the point, I knew _you _would be. Somewhere. Nice work with the diary, by the way. I can't remember if I thank you properly... So thanks!"

"You're more than welcome. Speaking of which, how is it that I...?"

"I remembered Rory. And Amy – and you – still existed even when one or both parents no longer did. So..." he grinned sheepishly.

"You have _no_ idea, do you?"

"I... Wibbly wobbly, timey whimey?" he suggested hopefully.

She rolled her eyes."Time travel. Maybe I do need another drink."

He nodded toward the nearly empty dance floor at one end of the room. "Or...?"

"Is that an invitation?"

He grinned. "Yup."

As if he needed to ask. She hadn't turned down an offer to dance with him since... well. Forever. Grinning, she held out her hand and, sliding off the stool, let him lead her out onto the floor.

She'd survive the bruised toes. She always did.


	10. Control

She moved with the assurance of perfect familiarity, a promise of years of practice which tantalized even as it unnerved. Her hands were gentle yet firm, and her fingers, whether lightly touching or stroking... Warmth radiated through him.

The blare of an alarm cut through his thoughts. She'd made the necessary corrections before he'd even thought to react. Then she smiled over her shoulder at him and turned back to the controls.

Something deep inside him which had been frozen for so long he'd almost forgotten it was there melted. Yeah. He could definitely get used to having a copilot.


	11. Rule 621

"You're cheating!"

"No. I'm not." He pointed to the board. "It's a word. Look it up."

She arched an eyebrow at him across the table. "In which _language_?"

He couldn't help chuckling. "Old High Gallifreyan." She grabbed the dictionary sitting at her elbow and began to flip pages. "Don't you trust me?" he asked, pouting.

She snorted without looking up from the book. "Rule number sixty-five," she said.

"Sixty-five?" He searched his mind, but couldn't remember that one. "The Doctor always wins at Scrabble?" he tried hopefully, giving her his best smile by way of encouragement.

She didn't even seem to notice. Holding the book open, she held it up in front of him. "Sixty-five," she explained, tapping the spot where the word wasn't. "The Doctor cheats." She smiled across at him. Suddenly, he didn't even care that she was, actually, beating him. Damn it. She'd gotten better at nearly _everything. _

He tried to look hurt. "Well, if you don't want to play with me, I can always pack up my board and leave?" he suggested, indicating the TARDIS sitting in the corner of the cell behind him.

"I never said I didn't want to play with you," she pointed out, reaching across the table to straighten his bow tie. "Did I?" Her fingers lightly brushed his neck as her hand withdrew.

She licked her lips.

For a moment, he actually forgot what they were talking about.

Her smile grew wider.

Yeah.

She was _definitely_ better.

He was gonna need a new rule.

Rule number six-hundred and twenty-one.

River cheats.


	12. Waiting Badly

"Doctor? Did you hear me?" He looked up from where he'd been adjusting the console controls.

"Yes. Yes, of course. I did. Off to the... What was it this time?" he asked, honestly trying to give them his full attention. Or at least, as much of it as he had left. Which he'd admit wasn't terribly much at the moment.

Amy and Rory exchanged slightly embarrassed glances. "The library," Rory finally answered.

"Ah. Yes. The library_,_" he repeated. He hoped he didn't sound quite as distracted as he felt. "Well, have fun, then, you two." He dismissed them with a flap of his hand in the general direction of the proper corridor. "In the _library_."

"Right. Then. Later," Amy concluded after a minute. But, as his companions started in the indicated direction, he could hear her say, "Rory, do you think he's slipping..?"

Not that he cared.

Because the TARDIS had finally landed, and, between the pounding of his hearts and the sweating of his palms and the... well... the generally being reduced to something slightly less useful than _rubbish_, he was finding it nearly impossible to think about anything at all.

She was standing at the bars as he stepped out of the TARDIS.

Smiling.

Waiting.

Because, after all, what her parents didn't know...

And two could play at that game.


	13. Two Birds With One Stone

_A/N: OK. Not really to be taken seriously._  
><em>Or is it...?<em>  
><em>And spoilers through Let's Kill Hitler.<em>

_This one was born during a conversation between my beta AstraPerAspera and myself and started out as a joke. She thought it was funny enough to share. Plus, the way things are going, it's just absurd enough to be plausible..._

* * *

><p>"The one thing that I still haven't figured out is how you managed to get from New York to Leadworth on your own. And what you were doing all those years. I've tried to find you, thinking maybe you'd had... help. But... nothing."<p>

River's fingers, which had been lazily tracing patterns across his chest, suddenly stopped. She looked up at him. "You know... when I mentioned 'finding' my parents... I might have been... You know... lying. A little."

"You?" he asked in mock horror.

River chuckled before continuing, "No. Seriously. Because it's the strangest thing. There I was, a child on the streets of NYC in 1969, and then suddenly there I was, standing on the street outside Amy's home in Leadworth. In 1997. With absolutely no idea how I'd got there."

A sudden look of realization spread across the Doctor's features. "Ohhhh..."

"Yes?"

"When I told Amy... all those years ago... to think of her family and they'd be there?"

"Yes?"

"I think she took that literally."


	14. Bouncing Back

_A/N: Mild spoilers for Let's Kill Hitler._

* * *

><p>She waited, watching, until the last blue trace had faded completely away. His kiss – the touch of his lips, the tantalizing and yet almost achingly familiar taste of <em>him<em>, the press of his palm where it had finally and oh so briefly landed – his first... her... last? God, she hoped not. But... Still...

Time travel.

And there were no guarantees.

There never were.

She was turning to go back into her cell when the groaning whine started again behind her. "What, did you forget something?" she asked as the doors opened, trying to summon her old cocky grin. Hiding the rest. Only it wasn't _him_. Not exactly. She could tell that as soon as he... well... bounced was the only appropriate word... out of the TARDIS. "Doctor?"

He grinned. _Really_ grinned. And she hadn't even known how desperately she'd missed _that_ look until that very moment.

She knew – or suspected – even before he'd opened his mouth. "Hullo," he said, sauntering up to where she still stood at the entrance to her cell. Only there, under the words...

"Good god, man. Is that a giggle?" she asked.

The impossible man did it again.

"Demon's Run?" she guessed.

He nodded.

"I haven't actually been there myself, you know. Again," she warned.

His grin didn't drop. "I suspected."

She arched an eyebrow at him. "You probably shouldn't be here... Aren't you supposed to be..." she waved a hand vaguely, indicating the backwards journey to that cornfield in Leadworth she knew he was meant to be taking.

"Probably not. But, you see, there's something I had to do first." And this time, when his lips found hers in what was possibly the best almost-first-hopefully-still-not-last kiss in the probably very brief history of all such kisses, there was no hesitation at all.

After long (very long, but still far too brief, because even Time Lords have to breathe) minutes, they had to come up for air. "So that's how they do it," the Doctor mumbled.

Trying to clutch her scattered thoughts, and not quite sure she'd heard him correctly, River asked, "What?"

He smiled. "Never mind." Then, he clasped his hands together before continuing, "I need to go..." He pointed back toward the TARDIS.

"Places to go, people to see?" she asked, trying to sound casual. Wanting to grab and hold on and never let go. Knowing she couldn't.

"Something like that," he agreed as he reached the doors. "See you on the other side...?"

She didn't answer; she never could, not here. There were too many eyes and ears. Fortunately, though, he didn't wait for a response. With a final wave, he was gone inside his box.

This time, though, as the final image faded, she didn't even have time to turn around before it was back. Before he was back. Her heart clenched in her chest, her breath froze in her throat...

And then he stepped out the doors. Slowly. And looked her in the eyes. And she knew.

_Her_ Doctor.

This time, he led her into the TARDIS before taking her into his arms... Into an embrace which only ended a very long time later, in a tangle of sheets, the TARDIS dancing through the vortex around them.

Only really, maybe, that was truly where it actually began.


	15. Finding Melody

_A/N: Three either unrelated or related vignettes. Depending on your definition._

* * *

><p>"Dressed for the cold?" she asked as he stepped out of the TARDIS and approached the bars of her cell.<p>

"What?"

She didn't answer. Instead, she ran one hand down the lapel of his long wool coat before reaching up and straightening his bow tie.

"Ah... yes. This old thing. Well... Wait. Don't you like it?"

She ignored the question. Instead, she observed, "The streets of New York can be cold. Especially in winter. Even for a Time Lord."

To anyone but him it would have seemed a _non sequitor_. "I couldn't..."

She smiled sadly, her hand resting on his chest. His hearts beat beneath her palm. "I know."

"But I will," he promised.

Her expression shifted. Her eyes sparkled playfully, her smile enigmatic. "Maybe... Unless..."

This time, it was his turn to warn. Only maybe she'd already said enough.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

They sat at the edge of the dance floor, sipping their drinks. He glanced across the table at her as she watched the dancers spin across the room. "Care for another go?" he asked.

She grimaced slightly, but her expression held only amusement as she answered, "I'm not sure my toes could take much more, honestly."

"I'm not that bad... Am I?"

She chuckled, and something deep inside him melted. One day maybe she'd stop having that effect on him. Though he certainly hoped not. "No. You're not."

He followed her gaze out to the dance floor, at the elegantly dressed dancers circling in each other's arms. "I should have worn my dinner jacket. I have one, you know."

"Yes. I do."

"I'm told I look rather good in it."

This finally worked, and she turned from watching the dancers to give him her full attention. Her eyes dropped suggestively before slowly traveling back up to meet his, a teasing smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Yes. You do."

Oh. Really...?

He'd have to remember that.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

He broke the kiss off reluctantly. Standing there so close, gazing into those beautiful eyes next to which nebulae and galaxies and all the other brilliant wonders of creation paled in comparison - and he should know... So if he was still a bit rubbish, he'd given up on fixing that. He might have finally started believing in miracles, but some things were taking that a bit too far. "River, I lo-"

Only her finger was at his lips, cutting off his words.

"But... I..."

She smiled then, her eyes swimming with unshed tears. That exact mixture of joy and grief which only River seemed to manage, and that far too often. "I know. Believe me, my love..." Her final words were almost a whisper, and he had to strain to hear, "I _know_."

"Then why...?"

Her smile grew. As did the pain lurking always just beneath it. And he knew the answer before she said it, anyway.

God, he _really_ hated that word.

So he did the only things possible.

He kissed her again.

And waited.


	16. Bad Form

"Only you, in the whole Universe, would come to a place like this to be alone."

He took a long look around, at the young couples strolling together across the midway, food or prizes or each other held in their arms, and at the families, the children skipping out in front as far as their parents would allow or pulling their slower elders forward by the hand, eager for the next ride. Or treat. Or adventure. "Wonderful place to be alone, a crowd."

"Self-torture is bad form," she observed as she slipped onto the bench next to him.

He finally let himself look at her. She was smiling back at him. Gently. Knowingly. And he didn't need to ask how she'd found him. Or if she knew why he'd felt a need to lose himself in a swirl of people. "I should be alone," he said instead.

"Probably," she agreed. "So should I. Too late for that, though. Besides, as tempting as it is at times, I think you'll find it's terribly difficult to manage."

He laughed mirthlessly. "You're telling me."

"You _told _me."

He studied her in silence for a long minute. This impossible woman who shouldn't exist and yet, somehow, against all reason, did. And she stared back. Unblinking. Undeterred.

So he slipped his arm around her. Because she was there. And because, after all, who was he to argue with a miracle? He'd already tried that... she _always_ won. It was far too late for that, anyway. It always had been.

And she returned the embrace, relaxing against him and laying her head on his shoulder. Her soft curls tickled his neck, their clean scent filling his nostrils.

It was strange to think the smell of prison soap would forever remind him of home.

After a long, long time, he finally broke the silence. "She wants you to visit."

"I know. And you know why I can't. Not right now. It would be too..." her voice trailed off.

"Complicated?" he suggested.

She nodded. "Too many questions I can't answer. They wouldn't understand."

He tightened his grip on her shoulders. "They miss you. They _worry_."

She chuckled, the sound reverberating through him as she sat in his arms. "I worry, too. I ordered them pizzas, though. One advantage: I already know their favourite place. They should be delivered..." She made a show of glancing at her watch, "In about two weeks. An hour after you left them."

This time it was his turn to chuckle. "I'm sure I'll hear about it." Then, remembering, and surprised to realize he had somehow managed to forget even if only for the space of a few minutes, "I mean..." He couldn't finish the sentence, though. Saying it would somehow make it more real.

She tensed against him, but when she finally spoke a few minutes later, it wasn't the word he'd expected to hear. Instead, indicating a couple strolling by with a nod of her head, a stuffed pink elephant held in the woman's arms, she observed, "I've always wanted one of those. How good are you at tossing softballs?"

He laughed despite himself. "How long have you got?"

She stood up and held her hand out to him, returning his smile. "All the time in the world."


	17. One

She saw it in the faces filling the court as she stood at the dock. She felt it in the mingling of their shared emotions, rising up around her like a haze. It was there in the testimony of each scholar who stood to speak, some of them known to her. Some even her friends. Once. A lifetime ago. It was even there, muted – for they knew part of the truth if not the whole of it – in her parents, brought forward by the Time Agents to bear witness to what they had seen: Hatred and loathing and a fear of what would happen to all of them now. Now that he was gone. Now that he was dead.

And she couldn't blame them. Couldn't fault them. For she completely understood. And agreed. Because if she had believed as they did, she would not have stood there calmly, stoically accepting judgment at the reading of the verdict. Could not have survived being Melody Pond. The woman who killed the Doctor.

She felt it again, later. After they had thrown her into her cell and she had nothing but time to peruse the records. To read of the millions who came together in countless gatherings throughout the Universe, joined in their grief at his death and commemoration of his life. Each of them – from those who hadn't even known him a moment but had only heard to those who had traveled at his side and would live now with a gaping hole at the center of their beings – united in their love of this man who had once wandered among them, touching the lives of billions upon billions he would never know and could hardly even imagine. And she knew that, of all of them, she who had loved him the most fiercely would have been the least welcome. The most hated.

Melody Pond. The woman who killed the Doctor.

It wasn't until later, after the trial, that she was finally awakened from a fitful sleep by the loud groaning and whining of ancient engines; that most beloved of all sounds filled her cage. She was standing at the bars as he stepped out the doors, and she knew it was finally _him_ in the gentleness of his smile and the light in his eyes even before he had opened his mouth.

"Hi, honey. I'm home."

Then he'd opened her cell with a flourish of his screwdriver and carried her over the threshold of the TARDIS, spiriting her off to a planet the name of which she'd never manage to recall. And it was there, lying in his arms in a honeymoon suite exactly like millions of other honeymoon suites throughout the Universe, that she finally understood. That she finally, really, _felt_ it.

In the end, it wasn't the billions who believed the lie that mattered. It was the one who knew the truth.

She wasn't Melody Pond, the woman who killed the Doctor. She was River Song. The woman he had married.


	18. Turnabout's Fair Play

He stood across the road from their house, unable to move closer but equally unable to leave. Unable to face them with the knowledge of what he had done. Or been unable to do.

It had been two hours since he had left her. After he had said goodbye. His final goodbye. And it was still a struggle to keep the tears from spilling out his eyes.

Lost in his own grief, he didn't notice he was no longer alone until she spoke next to him. "You'll find it's a lot easier than you'd think, really. Or maybe not."

He pressed the heel of one hand into his eye, trying to stop his tears, before turning to look at her. She was dressed casually, in the style of her parent's age, in a loose jacket and jeans, with no clues as to when she was in her own timestream. He tried to smile. To sound casual despite the hoarseness of his throat. "What's easier?"

She chuckled, the warm familiar sound twisting through him like a knife. Without taking her eyes off her parents' house, she explained, "Finding out that, after it's all said and done, all your work and effort weren't really necessary. That you've wound yourself up over nothing. Well, not _nothing_," she corrected herself. "But learning that you weren't the hero of the piece after all? That she – or he – didn't _need_ you to save her? That she was perfectly capable of saving herself all along?" She finally turned to look at him. Her eyes danced with humor through a shine of tears, "Not surprisingly... It's actually pretty easy to get used to."

He opened his mouth to speak but quickly shut it again, not quite able to believe what he _thought_ he was really hearing. What she was saying.

But all doubt was gone when, wiping the moisture off one of his cheeks with her thumb, she observed, "I told you you'd cry."

"River...?"

Her face broke into the radiant smile that was always the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. "Hello, sweetie."

"How...?"

She chuckled again, only this time it bubbled through him. Grief and despair turned to joy. "Seriously, dear? After you tricked me into doing the research on your death, do you honestly think I'd have failed to do a little on my own? You can laugh all you want, but archeology _is_ good for something. And you can't possibly believe what happened in the Library escaped notice."

"But... That's..."

"Cheating?" she asked.

"Yes."

This time, she actually laughed. "Sweetie... I did learn from the best."

"I suppose you did," he admitted, his laughter joining hers as the bubbles turned into a fountain. Years of tension and dread released in a rush, threatening to overcome him. Promising years of... He hardly dared think. After a moment, though, he had to ask simply because he _always_ had to know, "Only, how did you...?"

She cocked her head as she looked at him. "Haven't you figured it out, yet, sweetie?"

He shook his head. He probably could have, really, if he'd tried. It was just that he was finding it terribly difficult to think of anything beyond her standing there in front of him and, for once in his long life, he wasn't really interested in being clever.

She laughed again. "The first time you met me..." She waited for his nod before continuing, "Like the first time I met you..." She waited again for him to nod. Then, leaning in close, the scent of her perfume surrounding him and her breath hot against his ear, she whispered, "Wasn't me."


	19. Sweetie Do

The note was stuck with a magnet to the fridge when he arrived:

_Sweetie -_

_If you get back before I do, the kitchen sink is leaking but I've already scheduled the plumber. __**Please**__ don't try to fix it yourself. _

_Also, we're out of milk. Could you pick some up?_

_And I think I've done something to the Universe again. When you have a minute, could you take a look at it?_

_X_

He opened the door and grabbed the milk. He'd pick some up later. As for the universe... He was sure she was only kidding about that.

Probably.


	20. Two Timing

She broke the kiss off – reluctantly – after several long minutes. Their faces were still mere centimeters apart when he opened his eyes, their green grown so dark as to be nearly black.

She knew him well enough to know what that meant.

And even though he was no longer quite as good as she knew he could be... _would_ be... still, after that kiss, and under _that_ gaze...

The corner of his lip curved upwards in a smile and she knew he could still (already?) read her as well. "River," he breathed. His breath was warm across her cheek. Caressing. And he was so close. So _there._

It had all gone quite far enough.

She pushed him back with both hands on his shoulders. "You know the answer," she managed to say in a voice somewhat stronger and more certain than she actually felt.

"River..." he repeated, only this time, it was more groan than word.

It was that more than anything else which nearly undid her resolve. It was _always_ that. Desperate need held in a word. In her name. And if she'd only been resisting for herself, only fighting her own battle, she knew she'd have given in years ago when his frustration had been, or would be, much more acute.

She knew with absolute certainty because she already had.

"I can't," she insisted for what felt like the millionth time and quite possibly was.

"You _won't_," he corrected.

It was like a dance by now. And like a dance, she knew her next step by rote.

She smiled but let her eyes fill with tears. "You know why."

"Spoilers," he growled.

She let her breath out slowly, casting her eyes downward, refusing for just a moment to meet his gaze. Letting him see the briefest glimpse of shame and guilt before looking back up at him. "I can't. Please, don't ask me to."

He tried again. He _always_ tried again. It was who he was. "Whatever it is, River. Whatever you've done... You know... I..."

Her finger was at his lips, cutting him off. And although she was never sure just what he was going to say, whether it was love or forgiveness or any other of the hundred ways that sentence could end, it didn't matter. Because he was right. She did.

"Spoilers," she scolded, trying to ignore his wince. In all the universe, he was the only one to whom it was truly hard to lie. She despised having to do it and, sometimes, herself for doing it.

Until she remembered why she did it.

For _whom_ she did it.

And that he would one day choose the wait himself.

She reached up to straighten his bow tie, taking a long moment to adjust it beneath his chin. Giving herself a long moment to remember. Her fingers still rested lightly on the smooth silk when she asked, her smile coming easily this time, "So, will I see you again soon?"

He shot her his best crooked grin, and suddenly he was five years old. "You tell me."

She chuckled and his smile grew broader. She let her hand drop from his tie. "Good. Until then?"

"Until then... Goodbye, River."

"Goodbye, sweetie. You'll always know where to find me."

He laughed although it was anything but funny and, with a final wave, bounced out of her cell and into his blue box. With a wheezing groan that might have brought the guards running if they hadn't assumed (with some accuracy) years ago that it was some mysterious mechanical malfunction curious to that particular corridor, the TARDIS was gone.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

The next time he came he arrived silently, which usually – but not always – meant that it was really _him_. He adjusted his bow tie as he approached her cell. This also usually, but not always, meant that it was him.

Her heart beat a little faster.

He stood at the bars and said, "Hi," rocking back on his heels with his hands thrust deeply into his pockets as though afraid he might still be turned away. And when she answered with a smile and "Hello, sweetie," his face broke into a smile like the dawn.

None of which meant anything, actually, since he never really managed to believe, even _after_, that she'd always be waiting there for him.

But she was finding it a bit hard to breathe anyway.

He brandished his sonic screwdriver before unlocking her cell. That didn't mean a thing, either, because he did that every single time, too.

She laughed in response, which she also did every single time, and which was exactly why he did it.

Then he opened the door and, after she'd accepted his invitation to "Run away with me, River, at least for_ now_," escorted her back to the TARDIS and followed her inside.

All of this was still, more or less, insignificant.

But when the TARDIS doors closed behind them and she offered to compare diaries, he shook his head and refused.

Actually, what he did was grab it out of her hand and toss it across the console room where it banged against the far wall before dropping to the floor.

Of course, by then she didn't notice. Or care.

Because it was him.

* * *

><p><em>AN: I' believe the Doctor was traveling and visiting River both generally backwards and generally forwards relative to her while she was in Stormcage, backwards from Good Man to Wedding of River Song and forwards after that. His backwards visits, therefore, served as cover for his forward visits. River had to pretend this wasn't so to maintain the deceit._


	21. Jumping Off

He woke to find the space next to him empty, a tangle of twisted sheets no longer even warmed by her recent presence. Slipping out of bed, he went to find her.

She was in the first place he looked after the console room, the kitchen, and the wardrobe: the library, seated in front of an auxiliary databank display, occasionally making notes on her handheld. "Good morning," he said by way of announcing himself as he entered. "Trouble sleeping?"

"No. Not really," she answered absently, not taking her eyes off the screen in front of her. "Just wanted to get some info out of the TARDIS files."

He glanced over her shoulder at the display. "A Galaxy-Class ship? The... Byzantium?" he continued, reading the name off the blueprints she had up. Forcing a chuckle, he asked, "You planning a vacation?"

She turned from the screen to look at him. "Hardly. My interest is purely professional."

"Oh, really?"

She smiled. "Oh, yeah. And if I manage to pull this one off, I think I've got a real shot at a pardon." Her eyes narrowed as she looked at him. "And I think that's probably all we should say about it at the moment, don't you?"

He returned her smile. "Probably, yes. However, if you need any help...?"

"I know who to call? I always do, don't I, sweetie?"

This time, he didn't have to force the chuckle. "Ready to come back to bed?"

"I'm not really sleepy."

"Neither am I."

She reached forward and turned off the display.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Some time later, she lay curled at his side, her head pillowed on his shoulder. "So," he asked, tangling his fingers through her hair. "Given any thought to where you'll go when you do get your pardon?"

Her hand paused its lazy tracing across his chest but she remained silent. He wasn't entirely sure if her hesitation was because she really didn't know or because his question was yet another reminder that the one place in the universe she most wanted to be was the one place which, under the circumstances, she could never stay. At least not permanently. Not if they wanted to maintain the illusion of his death.

"River?" he asked, catching her fingers in his and giving them a gentle squeeze. "Have you?"

He could feel her head shake against his shoulder, her wild mane of curls tickling his neck. "No. Not really. I haven't been able to think much beyond... You know."

"Have you considered going home. I mean, to Leadworth? Your parents? At least for awhile." Which was cheating, of course, because he _knew_. But he didn't have to tell her that.

This time, he couldn't miss her sudden tensing as she lay against his side.

"River?" he repeated. "You've been back to visit already, haven't you?"

"Yes, many times. It's just..." she began, and then stopped. He waited for her to continue. After a minute, she did, "I haven't been back after... they remember Utah."

She fell silent again. "And...?" he prompted.

There was real fear in her eyes as she looked up at him. "I killed you, didn't I? And even though they know I didn't want to... and fought against it... As far as they know... I still did it. And I know I've faced everyone else. But... Being there, with Amy. On that beach..."

She ducked her head, concealing her features, but for just an instant he had seen again that scared little girl she had been, reaching for help, unsure there was any to be had anywhere.

He tightened his arm around her. "She's your Mum, River."

"Yeah... I know."

Only he felt her fear... her heartbreak... as clearly as if it had been his own. And until that very moment, he'd never been entirely certain she'd remembered. Or understood.

A gunshot in a warehouse in 1969.

And a little girl crying out in terror.

"Oh, River."

This time, there were tears in her eyes when she looked up at him. "See? And even though I know it's stupid... Because she didn't really know..."

He didn't answer right away. Instead, he ran his hand along her back, stroking her shoulders with the tips of his fingers until he felt her relax, just a little, in his arms. Then, planting a kiss on her forehead, he followed it with his own and, forehead to forehead, looking her straight in the eyes, said, "Still. You can't avoid it forever. Better to know sooner rather then..."

"Yeah," she agreed, smiling weakly. "Will you...?"

He shook his head against hers. "No. But I'll be there if you really need me."

"You always are."

His arms tightened around her and he smiled. _Really_ smiled. "Yeah. I always am."


	22. Sick Days

_A/N: This chapter is for someone who knows who she is and who insisted this was the way it was but whom I'm forbidden from naming.  
>Because of the Blood Oath. <em>

* * *

><p><strong>Excerpts from River Song's Diary:<strong>

_2 March - 14 March 5145  
><em>_Finally got to see the Transit of Vandabar/Astral Nebulae conjunction. Just as beautiful as reported. Trilecta, however, bit of a disappointment. Not really his fault as cruise my idea in the first place (though, honestly, that was over a decade ago and he's generally gotten better at figuring out relative times than that, but maybe tickets are harder to come by than I'd thought?) Spent most of the time in stateroom anyway, so suppose hardly matters. And no, dear diary, the rest is none of your business._

_*Note – Really must remember to turn television on before. No matter how distracted. Though did he really have to look quite so smug when the porter mentioned 'screaming'?_  
><em>Must also remember that.<br>__Impossible man._

_18 March 5145  
><em>_It arrived today. Should have seen it coming. Did see it coming. Literally.  
><em>_An invitation to Utah. 22 April 2011.  
><em>_Show time._

_8 April 1969  
><em>_Everyone's decided mother's frequent nausea is caused by exposure to the Silence. Of course, it's not the Silence.  
><em>_It's me._

_12 April 1969  
><em>_Sick today. Father remembered I was sick back in Florida, too.  
><em>_Everyone assumes it's the Silence. Only I know the Silence don't make you sick.  
><em>_As if I didn't have enough to deal with.  
><em>_Sometimes, I could just kill him._

_God, I miss him._

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

She wiped her mouth off with a strip of toilet paper and threw the wad into the bowl in front of her. She was meant to be tracking down Silence – and trying not to even _think_ of the irony of that – yet here she was spending the better half of each day rushing off to the nearest washroom and the other half trying to find someplace safe enough for a quick sleep.

And if experience had taught her anything, it was going to get a whole lot worse before it got better. A single shared strand of temporal DNA might make the entire process possible, but it hardly made it easy. And unlike Amy, she'd be showing soon, too. Which, under the circumstances, surrounded by Silence...

If things got really bad, she knew she'd have to use the Vortex Manipulator. Only she'd had enough lectures from him on the dangers of that, under these conditions, for it to be a last resort. A _last_ last resort.

Still, if it came to facing the unshielded vortex or the Silence...

She knew which she would have to choose.

The room seemed to suddenly shift around her, twisting her insides, and she was leaning forward again, gripping the porcelain.

A sudden hand on her back, another gently pulling her hair back from her face, and if it hadn't been for his gentle touch on her mind, despite her condition, she'd have already laid him out on the floor. He chuckled, "I've no doubt you would, dearest."

Sitting back on her heels and taking the tissue he held out for her to wipe her face, she observed, "You really shouldn't be here."

"I'm not here," he said, "I'm at Area 51. Ask anyone." Then, scrambling to his feet, he held out his hand. "Now, lets get out of here before someone notices I'm not me."

She took his hand and he helped her to her feet. Stepping her out of the stall, he opened the invisible door of the equally invisible TARDIS he'd somehow managed to park inside the tiny Ladies' Room and led her inside.

As soon as the door had closed behind them, he turned to her. "You okay?"

She nodded. "Yeah. Now. How...?"

"The Silence don't cause nausea." He chuckled. "I know that _now_. And of course, I also know what _does_. The Trilecta, if I've got the timing right?" he asked, with just a touch of the smugness which for once actually didn't make her want to slap him. "Unless I've got something else to look forward to...?"

She returned his smile. "No, I think you're right. You and your guilt complex..." she began, but broke off at a sudden wave of queasiness.

His hand on her arm steadied her. "Cup of tea usually helps," he said. "At least, the way _I_ make it."

She nodded gratefully. "Yes, please."

And, hand still on her arm, he led her back to the TARDIS kitchen.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

River returned to the small Ladies' Room, via Vortex Manipulator, a few seconds after she had left. Or, possibly, a full fifteen months afterwards. It was all a matter of perspective.

She'd left him sitting in the back garden of the small cottage he'd rented, or rather, that one Doctor John Smith had rented, outside Stanwell, dangling their infant son upon his knee. He'd been trying to convince the poor child – who was clearly having none of it – that Daddies could be just as good as Mummies, at least for short periods. Even without mammary glands.

She hadn't wanted to leave them, of course. She never did. But she knew where to find them. And they were never more than a Vortex Manipulator away, anyway.

And, in the end, River discovered the timing really wasn't as terrible as she had thought.

After all, nothing can make the price worth paying as much as a reminder of just what exactly it has bought.


	23. The Flip Side

_A/N: This is technically a companion to Chapter 10 of my Night Shift, because... Well, just because._

* * *

><p>He found her in the library, searching through the books in the RecreationSports section. "What ya doin'?" he asked.

Without looking up from her perusal of the books, she replied, "Just about mastered origami. Looking for something new."

"Ah...," he replied, peering over her shoulder at the spines. "How about...this?" he suggested, pulling a yellow covered book off the shelf and handing it to her.

She read the cover. "_Juggling for the Complete Klutz_? Trying to tell me something?"

He laughed. "No. Well... Yes, actually. That you should learn to juggle."

"What on earth would I want to do that for?"

"Same reason I did."

"What's that, then?"

His eyes danced with merriment, but, somehow, he managed a straight-face as he answered, "Irony."


	24. To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

_She waited, floating in water so dark it might have been black for all the sunlight penetrating to her level. Thoughts and feelings – emotions so raw they were terrifying in their intensity – floated with her, just out of reach. She kept them just out of reach. Knowing she would be unable to survive them, that if she touched the pain and the fear and the grief for even just a moment they would consume her, she felt nothing. It was the first thing she had ever learned... The first thing they had ever taught her..._

_And she had learned the lesson well._

_But __then __he __was __there. __On __the __beach. __And __she __came __out __to __join __him. __Not __because __she __wanted __to__ – __she __didn't _want _to __do __anything__ – __but __because __that's __what __she __had __been __born __to __do._

_Only..._

_As he came forward to join her..._

_He looked at her and smiled. And she remembered his voice in her ear, his last breath on her cheek, calling to her even as she killed him. And she could remember the moment she had brought him back, merging her energy with his, herself completely in him. Bringing him back to life. Refusing to lose him just as she was finding him._

_Love radiated off him like sunlight, embracing her._

_And __she _felt _it._

_Something cracked, deep inside her._

_And she remembered. She loved him, too._

_She would not kill him. They could not make her kill him. No one could make her kill him._

_Only..._

_Her arm came up and he wouldn't run. He just stood there, loving her, damn him, as she tried to fight it. Wanted to fight it. Did fight it. _

_Couldn't fight it._

_Didn't want to fight it._

_The blasts tore through her as surely as through him, ripping her apart. He fell to the sand at her feet. Dead. _

_And even as she screamed out her anguish and fury, somewhere, deep inside, she rejoiced. Because she'd finally done what she'd been born to do..._

_She'd finally killed the Doctor._

River woke with a start, heart racing in the semi-darkness of the holding cell. Her sheets were damp and twisted about her legs, her pillow wet beneath her cheek. She hadn't meant to sleep. She _didn't _sleep. Not anymore. Not unless exhaustion overtook her. And even then, never for long.

The guard seated outside her cell was watching her, not even attempting to hide his hatred or his joy in her pain. She pulled herself into a sitting position in the corner of the cot, as far into the darkness as she could go. It was the closest thing to privacy she was likely to have until she was moved to a more permanent facility after her trial.

She was fairly certain, though, that it would be even longer than that before the nightmares stopped. Before she knew the truth... the truth which carried her through every single waking moment... even in sleep.

She hadn't _wanted _to kill the Doctor. She _hadn't_ killed the Doctor. And, most importantly of all...

The one truth which made life _possible_...

The Doctor wasn't dead.

-o-o-o-o-o-

_She waited, floating in water so dark it might have been black for all the sunlight penetrating to her level..._

_And even though she'd dreamed it a hundred times... a thousand times... And even though she knew it for a dream, now... Still, she remained as powerless to change it as she had been then. As she'd always been._

_An observer in her own life._

_Then he was there. On the beach. And she came out to join him._

_And just as she had done that first time, and every single time since, she pleaded with him, begging him to run away. To leave her._

_Please._

"_No."_

_She stopped her pleading. "What did you say?"_

"_No," he repeated._

_Which wasn't what he'd said. Ever. "But I can't stop it," she tried to explain. Again._

"_Yes. __You __can. __You _did_.__"_

"_What?"_

_He __stepped __forward __and __reached __for __her. __His __hands __gripped __her __arms__ – __arms __which, __along __with __the __rest __of __her, __suddenly _weren't _in __a __spacesuit__ – __and __forced __her __to __look __directly __at __him.__ "__River?__"_

"_Yes?"_

"_You're __dreaming.__"_

_She __smiled __despite __herself. __She'd __never __had __a __dream __tell __her __she __was __dreaming __before.__ "__Of __course __I'm __dreaming. __I __always __dream. _You're _the __dream, __sweetie.__"_

"_No. __I'm __real. _This _is __the __dream,__" __he __explained, __releasing __her __to __gesture __around __the __beach.__ "__Not __a __very __good __one, __I'll __admit,__" __he __continued, __adding __with __disgust,__ "__Utah.__"_

_He might be a dream, but he sure sounded like him._

"_Of __course __I __do. __I'm _me. _Who __else __should __I __sound __like? __Well... __actually... __I've __sounded __like __quite __a __few __other __people __before. __Only, __technically, __they __were __me __too... __so...__" __He __broke __off __with __a __shrug __and __a __smile.__ "__See? __Me?__"_

_She __laughed, __almost __willing __to __believe __him.__ "__So, __if __you're __real, __and __this __is __my __dream, __then __what __are you_ _doing here?__"_

_He shrugged again and looked a big sheepish. "You were having a nightmare. I stopped it."_

"_Isn't that some sort of invasion of privacy?"_

_He __arched __an __eyebrow __at __her.__ "__Under __the __circumstances? __You _do _remember __what __we __were __doing __right __before __you __fell __asleep, __right? __Which, __I __might __add, __if __you've __been __having __these __nightmares __for __any __length __of __time, __I'm __suddenly __feeling __a __lot __better __about...__"_

_And how could anyone possibly manage to look exactly like a five year-old and as ancient as the universe at the same time?_

_He chuckled. "Practice." Then, with a look which held absolutely nothing five years-old about it and which quite nearly convinced her he was entirely real, he continued, "Speaking of which, you're going to need sleep. And I need to get out of your dream."_

_She tried to suppress her sudden surge of panic at the thought of him leaving._

_At the thought of the nightmare resuming._

_He __smiled.__ "__Don't __worry. __I'll __still __be __here __if __you __need __be. __I __just __won't __be _here _here. __If __you __see __what __I __mean?__"__  
><em>

_She returned his smile and nodded._

"_Good. Then, sleep well..."_

_And, with those words, he was gone. The entire world dissolved around her, disappearing with him into blackness._

_And River finally... dreamlessly... slept._


	25. Days and Nights

_A/N: Rated M, though that's not the point of the thing. I just couldn't tell the story properly any other way. You've been warned... If under 17, please skip.  
><em>__Companion piece to my 'To Sleep, Perchance to Dream'. __

_-o-o-o-o-o-o-_

He hadn't realized... Forgotten? Never known...? It would be like this. _Could_ be like this. Her nails in his shoulder, clutching a handful of hair in her grasp, she arched beneath him, pulling him close. Opening beneath him in silent invitation. And he accepted, pushing slowly into her, drawing the movement out and pausing only briefly as she gasped in pain – and he should have known, if he'd even thought about it, because Nestenes and androids weren't ever attempts to truly deceive.

Then she sighed in his arms, pain returned to pleasure. A whisper of joy against his neck. Control shattered. Pressing forward, in one fluid movement, he filled her completely.

_Completely._

Mind, body, and soul.

A total joining. A total surrender.

A perfect union.

No longer sure even where he ended and she began... where his pleasure ended and hers began... he moved. Carrying her (Him? Them? Was there ever a difference and did it even _matter_?) higher and higher until they flew over the brink together.

The world shattered around them; they clung to each other, alone in a universe all their own.

And when, still joined with her in every way that mattered, awareness returned, he could feel the slow steady beating of her heart as though it were one of his, the gentle current of her thoughts, dim and blurred within his own.

He chuckled despite himself. She'd fallen asleep. Which, as a critique, left quite a lot to be desired. Maybe they needed more practice. This really wasn't the worst idea he'd ever had, though.

But then, as she slept, she dreamed...

He stopped laughing.

Because, connected as they still were, he could see with her. Feel with her. A lake in Utah. And a beach. And his hearts began to race with the quickening of hers as he recognized the nightmare.

Sinking still deeper into her thoughts... Into her dream...

Without even deciding to do so...

He went to save her.

-o-o-o-o-o-

Careful not to wake her now that she finally slept, he slowly withdrew from her until just the barest tendril of his awareness remained entwined with hers, guarding against any sign of recurring nightmare, ready to soothe and comfort should it become necessary. Then, shifting his hold, he pulled her to his side, tucking her against his chest. Her heart beat, slow and steady, her thoughts a gentle murmur, submerged in deepest sleep.

He smiled into her hair.

That night, and for many, many, _many_ nights to follow, safe from nightmares, River slept in his arms. But the Doctor...

The Doctor didn't.

Which was more than okay with him.

She had given him all her days; now she would have his nights.

Besides, he did have a time machine, after all.


	26. A Rose By Any Other Name

He slipped unnoticed into an empty seat at the back of the crowded lecture hall. She stood at the podium, explaining recent discoveries in the ruins on XR372. How the swirls of script they'd found on plastic shards were forcing the scientific community to rethink the established historical time line for the planet's former indigenous species, the Scrilacta. From time to time she'd pause in her explanation to draw her audience's attention to an image she'd displayed on the screen in front of them. Occasionally, too, one of her students would signal a question and she would stop to acknowledge him or her and answer it. With them, her patience seemed limitless. Never once did she imply a question was foolish or the answer obvious... Even when they were.

Eventually, after nearly an hour, her lecture drew to its close and she dismissed her class. The room slowly cleared around him. Several students, though, approached her desk with a comment or question they'd not wanted to share earlier. She answered each of them with a nod and a smile and a word of encouragement. Finally, though, when the hall was empty save for the two of them, she gathered up her books and notes and headed up the aisle towards the door by which he sat.

She stopped as she drew parallel to him. "Slow day, sweetie?" she asked, smiling down at him.

He nodded. "Something like that."

She glanced back over her shoulder at the empty lectern and then back to him. "Quite a change from saving... or destroying... the universe, isn't it?"

He couldn't help but smile. "Well, I do have to admit," he said after a minute, "I would never have imagined that _you_ could actually find happiness as a geography teacher if I hadn't just seen it with my own eyes."

"Not geography," she corrected him. "_Archeology_."

He laughed. "Same difference." Then, standing up, he offered her his arm. "And now, Professor Song, if I might ask the teacher to lunch? I probably even have an apple about here somewhere..."


	27. A Little Harmless Flirting

The welcoming smells of warmed chocolate and too-much sugar permeated the small sweet shop, setting his mouth watering the moment he stepped inside. Just as it always had and, he assumed, always would. The shopkeeper was assisting another customer so he stepped up beside her to await his turn.

"One pound of double chocolate fudge, please."

"Mhm," the Doctor grunted as the shopkeeper went to fill the order, adjusting his lapel with his free hand and tapping his cane impatiently. How typical; just what he was after. He hoped there would be enough remaining for him. After insisting that this shop carried the absolute best fudge in the universe, it would be a shame if poor Vicki and Steven were denied the opportunity to taste it. He chuckled under his breath. He wouldn't be particularly pleased at being denied himself.

The young woman at the counter before him turned at the sound, her halo of golden curls bouncing as she moved. A slow smile spread across her face as she looked at him. "Why, hello sweetie. Imagine meeting _you_ here." She gestured to the package of fudge the shopkeeper set before her. "Here for the fudge yourself, I presume? It's always been your favorite."

As he'd never seen this young lady before in his life, her comment was completely nonsensical. Though there was something about the way she was looking at him... Something stirred inside him that had been asleep for a very long time. Stammering just a little, he tried to answer. "Well... Er... Yes. Yes." He smoothed the front of his jacket. "I... Yes. Fudge. Exactly, young lady." He wagged a finger at her to accentuate his point. "Fudge."

She chuckled, the sound flowing as deep and smooth as brandy, and reached out to slowly run one finger down the inside of his lapel. "Young, sweetie? You sure?" Green eyes caught and held his, seeming to see straight through him. The stirring unfurled deep inside him, leaving him breathless.

"Young lady," he began once he'd regained the ability, "Are you _flirting_ with me?"

"I'm _trying _to, dear. Only you're not making it terribly easy, you know."

"But... But... Dear child. I'm old enough to be your _father_." Several times over, actually, but he wasn't about to tell her that.

Her chuckle became a laugh, rolling up from deep inside her. After a minute, she opened her mouth to answer, but before she could, a voice behind her caught her attention. "River? What on earth..."

They both turned to see a young man approaching the counter. He wore a burgundy bow-tie and a tweed jacket, and had the most absurdly wild haircut the Doctor had ever seen. Not that he had anything against longer hair himself, of course, but a little balance and control never hurt anyone.

The young man stopped short as his glance took in the Doctor. "Oh. It's... _you_." He turned to the woman in obvious alarm. "River, please tell me you haven't been..."

He broke off, waving a hand vaguely toward the Doctor, who took the opportunity to ask, "Is this young woman your mother?"

At this, the lady in question – River, if he'd heard correctly – threw her head back and laughed.

The Doctor couldn't begin to see what was so funny. Glaring down his nose at the young man, who's own eyes were dancing with barely controlled and completely inappropriate amusement, he demanded, "Well... young man... don't just stand there like smiling like an idiot. Is she?"

Rather than answering the Doctor's question, the man turned to River. "See? _This_ is what happens."

Still laughing, she waved aside his comment. "Oh. Don't worry so much, dear. I'm sure you'll never remember." Then, stepping closer to the man – as close as she could without actually touching him – she continued, her voice purring from her throat as she reached up to adjust his tie, "Besides, sweetie... I thought it would be fun if...just this once... _I_ got to be the one to rob the cradle."

Despite the fact that he was, by now, fairly certain both of the young people standing in front of him were quite mad, the Doctor still couldn't help feeling just a bit envious of the young man. It had been ages – literally – since anyone had looked at him that way.

Ah.

To be young and in love again.


	28. Happy New Year!

He practically bounced out of the TARDIS, flourishing a paper horn in one hand. A bright purple plastic top hat perched precariously on his head.

"Happy New Year!" he declared as he crossed to her cell.

River arched an eyebrow at him. "New Year?"

He took off his hat and, grinning hugely, pointed excitedly to the words written on it. "Yeah! That's what it says on the hat. A hat... with words! How cool is _that_?"

She continued to stare at him for a moment, eyebrow raised. When his grin refused to fade, she relented. "Yes, dear, that's wonderful. Except, you realize, it's the third of March."

He waved aside her objection. "Well, yes, of course it is. _Here_. But I know someone who can get us into _the_ New Year's Eve party. In..." He glanced at his watch. "Three-thousand and sixteen years ago." Pulling out his screwdriver, he unlocked her cell and flung back the door. "Coming?"

"Of course."

"Excellent. _ Fantastic._ Because I've already got you a hat..."

She still went anyway. And even wore the hat.

Ah... The things one does for love.


End file.
